


I Can Weather The Storm

by youmockussir



Category: Orbiting Human Circus of the Air (Podcast)
Genre: And Then He Gets Loved, First Kiss, Hair Washing, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, John Cameron Yells At A Bully, Julian Gets Beat Up, Love Confessions, M/M, OHC Fanwork Exchange 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:42:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23676328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youmockussir/pseuds/youmockussir
Summary: The new stagehand is kind of a bully, and Julian is very, very afraid. John doesn't understand what's happening until it's too late.
Relationships: John Cameron/Julian the Janitor, Julian the Janitor & Leticia Saltier
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44





	I Can Weather The Storm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [luckjustkissedyouhello](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckjustkissedyouhello/gifts).



> For Mab. I hope this keeps you warm in these chilly times. I've never really written hurt/comfort before but I had fun with this. 
> 
> CW: Blood, some minor violence, swear words, John Cameron Drinking

Julian knows every employee at the Eiffel Tower. Most of them, he knows by name, or by story. He knows the cadence of their footsteps, the geometry of their face when they smile, the choreography of their work. He knows the elasticity of the relationships between crew members, and he knows the influence they have on the rhythm of the circus, however light-handed. 

Sometimes, there is a changing cast. This can be due to many reasons. A parental leave, a sickness, a vacation. There are a number of understudies for any of these roles, but Julian knows these understudies too. 

Except, he doesn’t know this man.

_ I don’t know how else to describe this man, except to say that he is a bully. He has huge, hulking limbs and an upturned nose. He frowns at children, and I’m sure that he would kick puppies if any puppy didn’t have enough sense to get out of his way.  _

Julian has thus far been able to hide from this scary man, but he knows that he can’t do that forever. At the very least, he’s trying his best. He’s heard chatters among the stagehands that his name is Jérôme.  _ How very French, _ the Narrator says bitterly.

* * *

Julian stacks a few boxes in Mr. Cameron’s dressing room. He had taken a long walk along the River Seine last night, and had found quite a few new acts to bring to the circus. Among them was a giraffe with the affinity for limbo, and Julian was amazed- usually he doesn’t find as many, but he had been exuding joy. 

And, so, perhaps distracted a bit by his good mood, Julian loiters a little longer in Mr. Cameron’s dressing room than normal. It’s not like he’s  _ forbidden _ from being there (at least, not anymore). 

“Hey! What the hell are you doing!”

Julian jumps back. In one of Mr. Cameron’s large, well-lit mirrors is a huge, hulking man. Julian is afraid before he even recognizes him, and the identification only makes this worse. Jérôme.

“I, uh, I-” Julian stammers, swivelling around and backing away from the door. Jérôme lumbers towards him.

“What, you think you can go around poking through Mr. Cameron’s stuff, like a nosy little pervert?” Jérôme’s smirk twists into a sinister mocking. 

“No! No, I’m just-”

Julian squeaks as Jérôme shoves him into a dresser, sending him to the ground. He tries to scramble away, but Jérôme just picks him up from under his armpits and slams him against the dresser again. He leans in close, teeth bared.

“Please, please let me go, I promise I’ll- please don’t hurt me-” Julian trembles, trapped and terrified. 

Jérôme almost seems to take some joy in Julian’s fear. He lets a smirk slip through his scowl, just for a second.

“Do you know what I’ll do, if I find you here again?” Jérôme tightens his grip on Julian’s shirt.

Julian can barely speak through his frightened shivering. “Wh-what?” His voice is a whisper.

Jérôme leans in even closer, about to ruin whatever part of Julian’s psyche that had thus far been left untouched, when he hears a cough. He drops Julian, who relies entirely on the sturdy backing of the dresser to keep himself upright through trembling knees. 

“Julian? Jérôme?” John Cameron looks incredibly awkward in the doorframe of his own dressing room. He is blushing rather deeply, and won't make eye contact with either man. In fact, it appears that he would rather be anywhere but here. Julian wishes John were anywhere but here, too. 

“Yes, Mr. Cameron?” Asks Jérôme innocently. 

“I’m sorry to be interrupting such an…” John raises one eyebrow, “intimate moment, but would you mind finishing it somewhere that isn’t my dressing room?”

Jérôme nods cordially. “I apologize, Mr. Cameron. I’ll be on my way.” He ducks out of the room.

_ Going back to hell, probably _ , spits the Narrator.

“Mr Cameron, I, I-”, Julian stutters. “It’s not what- I mean, I’m s-sorry!” Julian runs out of the room before Mr. Cameron can see him cry. Today has been terrible enough without weeping in front of his crush. He sprints to his closet and slams the door, pushing his scrappy wooden chair under the doorknob before curling up in a tight ball and sobbing. 

_ There there,  _ The Narrator tries to comfort Julian.  _ You’re safe now. He can’t get you here. _

“Mr. Cameron probably hates me!” Julian sobs. “Jérôme is right- someone like me shouldn't be bothering Mr. Cameron’s stuff.”

_ I’m sure he doesn’t hate you.  _

“Why not? There’s no reason for him to like me.” Julian starts coughing and can’t seem to stop, sending himself into a hyperventilating frenzy. “I just,”  _ cough, _ “ruin,”  _ cough, _ “everything!”

_ Hey! None of that! Take some deep breaths or you’re going to pass out! _

“Wh- What’s the p-point?” Julian hiccups. “It’s h-hopeless! He’s never g-gonna like me back now. I’d r-rather be as-sleep than, than,” and at this, Julian can continue no more. He cries until the racking of his lungs dissolves into shivering which withers into restless sleep.

Meanwhile, in his dressing room, John Cameron is fixing another one of his uncharacteristic drinks. This was a rather deliberate approach to avoiding deliberating over what he had seen today. Someone who knew him well would say that this is how he acts when he’s jealous. 

* * *

“Would ya say that a hot dog is a sandwich?” Jacques asks while hoisting up one side of a very heavy box.

Leticia stares at him. “Er, what?”

“I’m askin’ ya, is a hot dog a sandwich?”

“Non? Eet is not?”

“Well then, what’s a sandwich to ya?”

Leticia frowns. “Er, eet is when there is two slices of bread, and somezhing in between, like meat or vegetables.”

“And you’re saying that a hot dog  _ isn’t  _ bread with meat inside?”

They bicker for a bit, which we’ll spare you from, but they eventually come to the conclusion that, while hot dogs and lasagna are sandwiches, open-face sandwiches and calzones are not.

“This kinda reminds me of this story da janitor told me once,” Jacques says after he drops the crate on top of another, identical crate. 

“Oh?”

“Yeah, somethin’ about love bein’ the best condiment for a salami sandwich, or somethin’.”

Jacques, of course, is completely misremembering the story in question, which involved a crew of sailors who were bad at singing, a particularly chatty whale, and a turkey sandwich.

“Oh, you know, now zhat you mention eet, I haven’t zeen ze janitor in a while.’

Jacques frowned. “Yeah, me either. I wonder what he’s been up to. It’s not like him to not try to, you know, fuck shit up.”

“Jacques!”

“What, am I wrong? Tell me I’m wrong. Do it, you won’t.” Jacques raises one perfectly shaped eyebrow. 

“I’m just a leetle worried about ze man. Eet’s like, when you make up in ze morning and eet’s very quiet, and eet’s nice, but zen you’re like, where are ze birds? Where did zey go?”

Just then, Leticia spots a certain radio host lurking at the edges of the room. She squints, searching for a tell-tale wobble that would reliably describe his blood alcohol content. 

John Cameron stumbles over. Okay, maybe it’s on the higher side today. 

“He’s probably with his new boyfriend,” he sneers. “Too good for the old Circus! Too good for old, ugly Mister Cameron!”

Leticia frowns. “John, you are drunk.”

“Drunk with jealousy!” John wobbles. “Oops, I said the quiet part out loud.”

“John-”

“What, Moppo’s got a boyfriend?’ Jacques, as he loves to do, sticks his perfectly shaped nose into everyone’s business. “D’ya think he’s imaginary?”

Leticia, who knows about Julian’s… interest… in John Cameron, finds this baffling.

“John, why do you zhink zat ze janitor ‘as a boyfriend? Zat seems… out of character.”

At this, John swoons into Leticia’s strong arms. She holds him, barely breaking a sweat, of course, but is annoyed about having to support a fully grown diva like a toddler. Yes, John has reached the terrible (forty) twos.

“Why?” John despairs. “Do you think he’s straight? God never lets me have anything nice!”

Leticia snorts. “Non, zat iz definitely not it.” She drops the drunken radio host onto a pile of beanbags. He pouts.

“I saw them! It was Julian and that new hunky stagehand, the one with the arms.” John drapes himself dramatically over the beanbags like a distraught disney princess. “They were in my dressing room, of all places, likely to torture me, John Cameron, specifically!”

At this, Leticia frowns. She doesn’t like Jérôme. She hadn’t wanted to hire him in the first place, but the Perpetual Broadcasting Corporation didn’t think that being “creepy and intense” was a good enough reason to reject the extra help. In any case, she knows that Jérôme scares the shit out of the janitor, and that he certainly is not Julian’s type. 

“I’m sure it iz not like zat, John.” She pats him on the head awkwardly. “Now please, go clean yourself up. You look like you got ‘it by a kangaroo wiz a vengeance.”

“Now  _ that  _ I’d like to see,” says Jacques, and she smacks him.

* * *

Leticia paces awkwardly outside of the janitor’s closet. It is cold out, with the wind whipping her coat out behind her like a cape and tangling her hair like an inarticulate spider’s web. 

She doesn’t like to interfere with people’s personal lives, at least what she can help, but she feels that she owes something to the janitor. What, exactly, she is not sure. She likes Julian. They get along. He is kind to her, and to the other stagehands, even if he ruins a show once in a while. 

She walks up to the door, raising her first to knock, then pulls it back. She doesn’t want to startle him. Lifting the first again, but softer, she is about to gently knock on the door when she hears a soft “oh” behind her. She swivels.

“Julian!”

He is holding a small box of cleaning supplies. He seems… smaller, if that’s even possible. He was already thin, but now his skin seems sunken and a little gray. His eyes are tinged with pink and his nose is a little runny. “Hi Leticia.”

“Oh, Julian, I am so glad to see you!” Leticia finds that, while this may seem ingenuine from the mouth of someone else, it sounds just right coming from her. This is because she means it. 

“Yeah?” Julian almost smiles. “You too.”

He fumbles with the keyring on his belt to find the key with yellow tape. Unlocking the door, he puts down the box and looks awkwardly at Leticia.

“Uh, come in, I guess.”

_ Don’t overwhelm her with your enthusiasm,  _ snarks the Narrator. Julian shushes him.

“Zhank you,” Leticia closes the door behind her and begins stoking the stove (something Julian is silently grateful for, as he is still unsure of how to work the damn thing). “I’ve missed you. Ze whole crew misses you.”

“Mm, yeah?”

“Yeah, Jacques is practically bouncing off ze walls wizout your stories to calm ‘im down.”

Julian, sitting on his cot holding his knees close to his chest, perks up at this. “Oh?”

“Yeah, and,” Leticia turns to give Julian a meaningful eyebrow raise, “Mister Cameron misses you.”

Julian blushes a deep crimson. “Really?” Then he looks down at his socked toes, remembering the events of the week, and his smile falls. “I thought he hated me.”

Leticia visibly recoils. “WHAT?”

“Yeah, I mean, the last time I saw him he seemed pretty angry that I was in his dressing room.” Julian hugs himself tighter at the memory. 

_ You fool! Now Leticia is going to yell at you too.  _

“Oh?” Leticia has a strange look in her eye that Julian can’t quite place. It’s like she is holding a few puzzle pieces in her mind but can’t see how they fit together, and she expects him to tell her how to link them. It’s one hell of a look. “I’m sure ‘e was not angry. Perhaps ‘e was ‘ungry? Zhose moods are almost indistinguishable.”

“No, that wasn’t it.”

Leticia pauses, seeming to debate something in her mind. “Maybe I can ‘elp. What  _ were  _ you doing in ‘is dressing room?”

_ Uh oh,  _ says the Narrator.  _ Does Leticia suspect that you are the provider of the acts? _

Julian ignores him. “I, uh, I was just dropping off some stuff, and then that scary guy came in and started yelling at me! It was so scary, I thought he was gonna kill me!” Leticia is frowning. “And he, like, pushed me against the wall, and then Mr. Cameron came in and told us to leave. He seemed really mad at me.”

“Oh, Julian,” Leticia says sympathetically.  _ Maybe she doesn’t hate you!  _ “Can I give you a ‘ug?”

“A what?”

“A ‘ug.”

“An… egg?”

Leticia sighs. “A hhhhhhug.”

“Oh. Yes, please.”

And so Leticia holds him. It’s warm, and nice, and he feels safe in her muscular arms. In this moment, he has no doubt that, 1) Leticia could snap him like a twig if she wanted to and, 2) she never, ever would. She pets his hair softly, like it’s a rabbit. It was a little weird and very comforting.

“Julian, John doesn’t ‘ate you. I zhink zere was just a misunderstanding.”

Julian sniffles. Was he crying? When did that start? “You really think so?”

“Oh, yes, Julian. Please come back to work. We all miss you.”

At this, Julian laughs. “You know I don’t actually work for you guys, right?”

But Julian does go back to the circus. He missed it, a lot, actually, and it felt right to return. Margot and Francois seem particularly excited to see him again (they force-feed him babka at the very first opportunity. “Mah grandma made it! Come on, open up!”) and Jacques hounds him for a story while they sweep up popcorn in the theatre. 

Things are back to normal, or, at least, whatever flavor of ‘normal’ suits the circus. Soon, it is the evening of the dress rehearsal for the newest show, and Julian is buzzing in his shoes. It’s his act!

_ I mean, they’re almost always your act.  _ The Narrator points out.

It's a shiny, dark brown horse that can trim hedges into fantastic shapes! Julian himself would never imagine something like this, and yet, when he stroked his aluminum riverboat down the Seine he could see it working on its masterpiece, some sort of a bear. 

The issue is that this particular act causes quite a bit of a mess, and even more hedge death. Julian finds himself very needed to keep this particular act running. He sweeps away the loitering dirt, which overstays its welcome on the scuffed theater floors by breaking into the cracks between tiles. Dust and chunks of soil and tiny decapitated leaves fly into the air, determined not to go out without a bang, and find themselves in Julian’s nose. 

He sniffs. Once. Again. And, without any control over his lungs or his nasal cavity, he sneezes, loud and high-pitched

_ Achoo!  _ Sniff.

The horse bucks against its decorative chains. Like a germaphobe or the director of a recording orchestra, it doesn’t like the sound of a sneeze, and runs off the stage into the empty audience. The doors are closed, and it doesn’t have anywhere to go but around and around and around.

“Eh,” shrugs Leticia. “ ‘e’ll calm down eventually. We were done anyway."

“Are you  _ fucking kidding me _ ?” Julian freezes. It’s a voice he hasn’t heard in over a week. A voice that instills terror in him in the same genre of fear that his stepfather authored. 

Jérôme stomps over to where Julian had dropped his broom. “It’s like you want to destroy the show! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

_ Run, Julian!  _ the Narrator cries.

Julian skitters back, trying desperately to run, to hide, but Jérôme catches the back of his shirt and reels him back in. Julian is quaking, no words escaping from his trembling lips.

“Nuh uh, you’re not gonna get away with this.”

Leticia steps towards them, trying desperately to diffuse the situation. “Jérôme, eet is not a big problem, just let ‘im go.”

“Someone needs to teach him a lesson, Leticia!” At this, he lets go of the janitor, who scrambles away. He only gets a foot away, however, before Jérôme grabs his shoulder, swings him around, and decks him in the nose.

Julian is stunned.  He is on the floor.  He isn’t quite sure how he got there.  There’s dirt (mud?) in his hair.  His face is wet.  He touches it.  Now his hand is wet.  It’s wet and red.

There’s a ringing in his ears. It’s not the sound of the audience, which follows him everywhere and always. It’s a high-pitched squeal. It sings louder and louder, reaching towards the sky, and hits a beautiful crescendo. 

_ Julian? _ prompts the Narrator.  _ Snap out of it. _

And then, it’s gone. He hears chaos around him. He shakes himself a little, and sees that Jacques and Leticia are dragging Jérôme out of the theater roughly. 

“And if you  _ ever  _ show your ugly mug in Paris again,” John Cameron is yelling at the retreating figures, “I will personally beat you to a pulp. Don’t even test me, bitch!”

The three disappear out the doors.

Julian remembers that his nose is bleeding and, with a quick jolt, resets it. It pinches a little, but at least the bleeding seems to slow down. It’s not like it’s his first time doing this, after all.

To his right, John Cameron is looking at him. It’s a hard look to place. His eyes are racing and he keeps opening his mouth and closing it right away. There’s longing, and discomfort, and worry, and anxiety, and flight and anger and fright and protection and awkwardness and pain and regret and realization. There’s also a bitten lip and scrunchy eyebrows and a hand running through his dishwater hair. Julian sees all of this, and has absolutely no idea how to comprehend it. 

“Sorry, sorry!” says Julian, for lack of anything else to say, and also habit. He’s afraid of John’s feelings, all of them. They’re so intense, and he wants them to go away. So, as he learned to do as a child at the mercy of his stepfather’s fists, he begins to clean. He picks up the broom at his feet and starts,  _ oh Julian,  _ he is trying to sweep the blood away.

_ That’s not going to work, Julian.  _

Finally, John speaks. “Julian, just stop it.” His voice is a little flat, and very lovely. “Come here, let me help you get cleaned up.”

Julian frowns. “I need to clean up the mess I made?” Almost inaudibly.

John sighs. “Just.” He gestures for the janitor to come to him. “Okay? Please?”

And Julian can’t really argue with that. He lets the host lead him to his dressing room, and seat him on a swivel chair near the sink. John takes a warm, wet washcloth and gently wipes the blood away from Julian’s face.

“Are you mad at me?” Julian asks, looking up through his eyelashes.

John sputters. “Wh- What? Why, in the good lord’s name, would I be mad at you?” He puts the towel back into the sink. 

Julian looks down. “I scared the horse and made a mess.”

Something flashes over John’s face. “Julian, that wasn’t your fault. And I don’t want to hear any more about it! Now lean back.”

Julian obeys. John runs the water until it’s warm, and gently washes the dirt and blood out of his hair. His hands are soft as they card through Julian’s shoulder-length hair, and it tingles in a way Julian doesn’t think he’s ever felt before.

_ Now this is the height of luxury,  _ sighs the Narrator, as if it were him getting an unexpectedly intimate massage.

“Of course I’m not mad at you,” murmurs the host. “I could never be mad at you. I was furious with that brutish asshole that thought he could get away with violence. But never you.”

“Mm. Good. I don’t want you to be mad at me,” says Julian. “I thought you were mad at me earlier. For being in your, um, dressing room?”

John is massaging fruity-smelling shampoo into Julian’s hair now. “I wasn’t mad,” says John softly. “I was. Well, I wasn’t mad.”

“Mm.”

John’s hands hesitate for a moment. 

“How the hell did you reset your nose so quickly? I thought we were going to need to take you to the hospital.” The  _ again  _ was unsaid, but was not unheard. 

There’s an awkward silence as John rinses out the shampoo. A little spray hits him in the face, and he looks very, very silly. Julian snorts, and then groans. 

_ That wasn’t very smart of you.  _

“Mm, it was no big deal. If he wanted to hurt me he should have gone for the ears. I’ve got permanent tinnitus from a punch like that. Have since I was little.”

John looks a little surprised. “You do?” and then, so softly Julian wants to curl up in his voice and take a long nap. “I didn’t know that.”

“Why would you?” Julian finds himself blurting out. “It’s not like we’re close enough for me to tell you about my stepdad, or anything. I mean,” Julian sits up, dripping water onto his slight shoulders. “Why are you even taking care of me like this? I didn’t think you wanted anything to do with me.”

“Hey.” 

John takes Julian’s hands in his own. Briefly, Julian wonders if John can feel his racing pulse through the thin skin on his wrists. He looks up, hesitant, and John is staring at him with this determined look in his eyes.

“Julian, I want everything to do with you.”

_ I’m sorry, what.  _ The Narrator is truly baffled at this turn of events. 

“You-” Julian trails off, mind racing. He’s sure he misunderstood  _ something. _

“I want  _ everything  _ with you.” John repeats.

Julian stares.

John takes a fluffy white towel from the vanity and gently dries Julian’s hair. A damp chunk flops in front of the janitor’s eyes, and John pushes it softly behind one ear, keeping his hand on Julian’s neck. 

“Julian, I…” John sighs. “I’ve been stupid, Julian. I’ve been irrational, and dramatic, and too cowardly to tell you how I feel.” 

_ Oh.  _

“But I’m ready now. To tell you. That… that I want you. That I  _ need  _ you. That you’re,” John swallows. “So important. To me.”

Julian puts his hand over John’s. 

“Mm, yeah? I have something to tell you too.”

Julian leans in and kisses John. It is soft, and chaste, and John tastes like cigarettes and Julian still has a little copper in his mouth but he feels warmer than he’s felt in years. 

Slowly, hesitantly, Julian pulls back. He looks deep into John’s eyes.

“I like it when you take care of me,” Julian admits. “It makes me feel safe.” He notices faintly that he is blushing.

“I want you to feel safe.” John says. “I want you to feel loved. You deserve  _ the world _ , Julian. You deserve everything.”

“Uhh,” says Julian. “I don’t know ‘bout that.” He smiles shyly. “How about you just hold me for a while.”

John smiles. “Yeah, that sounds good. C’mere.”

**Author's Note:**

> yes I named the villain after the guy in my database project who didn’t contribute anything. fuck you Jérôme.
> 
> Title from "I've Got My Love" by the Music Tapes


End file.
